Sludge, for want of anything better coming to mind
by alliekiwi
Summary: Someone  shows up at the gates of Terminal City with no memory of who he is. All he knows is that he's a superpowered freak being chased around by mobs, who should fit right in with a whole group of superpowered freaks.


I saw a fic rec on LJ for a story that doesn't exist. It sounded fun, and then a beginning popped into my head. I don't know if I'll continue it, but it was a fun drabble if not.

_[Someone] shows up at the gates of Terminal City with no memory of who he is. All he knows is that he's a superpowered freak being chased around by mobs, who should fit right in with a whole group of superpowered freaks behind their safe, heavily-guarded fences. The transgenics disagree._

_**Reccer's Comments:**__ This would be an awesome story if it existed. SOMEONE WRITE IT FOR REAL._

Note: I've left out the name of the person who was supposed to be outside TC as that would spoil it.

* * *

><p>"Freak!" a voice yelled as a boot hit the man in kidney area.<p>

"Abomination!" another voice yelled, this time accompanied by a kick aimed at the man's head. He winced, more due to reflex than any actual pain at the impact.

More voices joined in and more fists and feet attacked the man on the ground, resulting bruises and blood appearing.

The man's ears couldn't distinguish voices and invectives anymore, and his vision was starting to blur. Why was he a freak, he wondered. What had he done? Why were these people attacking him? He couldn't remember how he had come to be here, couldn't remember the first blow, let alone what he'd done to deserve it. He was afraid he was going to die without knowing the reason why.

Suddenly there was a loud retort as a rifle sounded. The crowd quietened and pulled back. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him up. "You all right?" a voice hissed. "We need to get you out of here. Can you mobilise?"

The man staggered slightly, but managed to stay on his feet. "Yes, I can move out. Wh-where are we heading?"

"The Promised Land, buddy, the Promised land."

* * *

><p>It didn't look much. In fact it looked down right hellish. Decrepit buildings, junk everywhere – although he could tell that most of it was placed for strategic advantage to those living inside on the other side of the fence.<p>

"Promised Land, huh?" he grinned at his new friends, X5-817 and Stewpot who refused to answer to a designation anymore, but wouldn't tell how he'd come up with such a ridiculous name in exchange. The three of them were skulking behind a dumpster, checking out what was apparently known as Terminal City and home to the Transgenic Nation.

"Depends on your point of view, Sludge," 817 said, nudging the man in the shoulder. "Anything's better than "good old Manticore".

'Sludge' winced at the name he'd recently acquired. He couldn't remember his designation and apparently he'd had his barcode lasered not too long ago as it still wasn't coming back ten days after having been rescued from the sludge outside a brothel in Coulee City. No other name had come into his head so Sludge it was. 817 and Stewpot had seen a crowd gathering and wandered over to see what was happening. They'd immediately realised Sludge was a fellow transgenic and come to the rescue. He was a bit older than them, but the consensus seemed to be that Sludge must be an X3 or X4. His strength, his ability to withstand pain and his quick healing confirmed it.

"Well, let's go then," Stewpot said, bouncing up and down as if he had ADHD.

"Leap the fence?" suggested 817.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a gruff voice interrupted. "The boys and girls tend to get a bit trigger happy when someone doesn't knock. Ety-ket and all that shit."

The three transgenics were startled when a gun-toting, human-sized lizard with a cigar appeared on the other side of the fence. "Come on out here where I can see you properly," he said through the cigar. "You all X5's?"

"Two X5s and an X3 or X4," said 817 moving out into the light. "We're not sure which – there was a bit of an incident with a crowd. He's got some memory loss."

"We've got medics who can maybe help," said the lizard, and 817 gestured for the other two join him.

The man and Stewpot moved out from behind the dumpster, both nodding in acknowledgement to the lizard who was in the process of introducing himself.

I'm Mole, by the wa—Holy Hell!" Suddenly the gun was off his shoulder and pointing at a stunned Sludge. "White, you slimy snake bastard! What are you doing here?"


End file.
